A/N: I have decided to call Mr. Granby with the first name of Thomas. As far as I know, his first name was never mentioned in the novel, and if ever it was, well, do forgive my overlooking that part. I just felt a dinner this small would necessitate the use of first names especially amongst those who are of similar age (Rosamond, Granby, Jane, and St. John). I also felt it quite rude to Granby if Mr. Oliver kept calling him by his last name even when he is already his son-in-law.
This chapter is quite long, in an effort to make up for the hiatus that I never foresaw nor announced. Enjoy! And reviews are always appreciated!
St. John and I were naturally the last ones to arrive for Mr. Oliver's celebratory dinner for six. I had gathered from my husband during the short journey that Mr. Oliver was hosting the dinner for Edward, St. John and me, and Rosamond and her husband, Thomas Granby. It was a smaller crowd than I have been mentally preparing for since this afternoon, but my heart still would not stop pounding.
I looked at St. John as a servant led us to the drawing room of Vale Hall. St. John looked terribly anxious to me, although he certainly would be putting up a good show for the others. The source of his worries were unknown to me still, and his silence had kept weighing on my spirits since we had left Moor House. I could not keep on asking what bothered him any longer for I have already inquired countless times and he had repeatedly responded "nothing" with a lusterless smile.
I clutched on his arm tightly as the drawing room door was opened for us. Everyone was already there: Rosamond and Mr. Granby were seated opposite Mr. Oliver who was situated nearest the fireplace while Edward stood with his back turned looking out the window which at that moment showed a beautiful blanket of sparkling stars. The two seated gentlemen stood up at our entry.
Mr. Oliver was the first to welcome us, pulling St. John in a tight embrace that one would wonder whether he was the son-in-law and not the dashing Thomas Granby. "So very happy, St. John! Very happy indeed!" Mr. Oliver greeted while St. John could only laugh tensely in return. "Feeling fine now, I hope, Jane?" Mr. Oliver asked as he turned to me, his smile warm and welcoming as he gave both my cheeks a kiss.
"Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Oliver," I answered with a warm smile. The old man might not be as discriminating as I once thought. He only ever really exchanged empty pleasantries with me before, and that was because St. John was married to me, I had assumed. Perhaps I was quick to judge.
Rosamond sauntered to give St. John and me a kiss on the cheek, and Thomas Granby followed to shake our hands in greeting. "Mr. Granby, a pleasure," I greeted Rosamond's newly-wedded husband. This was only the second time I had seen him, the first one being at their wedding ball.
"Please, call me Thomas," he smiled kindly. I must say that that was the first time I had heard him say anything else than a greeting with my name or another's tagged at the end of it. His voice was deep like the last echo one's voice would turn into after talking into a deep well. And he looked the part of fair Rosamond's husband as well.
I saw Edward move from his darker spot towards the light of the fireplace and I felt my heart pound even harder. He looked painfully murderous from my perspective, with his lips pursed and his jaw taut, his eyes piercing arrows in my soul. "Rivers," he muttered roughly, without even any hint of false niceties and I could only look at him disbelievingly.
"Oh Jane, do forgive my guest, he does take some getting used to," Mr. Oliver laughed uneasily as he caught the expression on my face. "And the doctor says he's probably still with some pain, what with the accident that extended his stay. But I am glad he's still in one piece and he has regained much of his strength at last."
"Glad to be rid of me soon, are you, Oliver?" Edward softly castigated with an awful smirk on his face. Oh, ever the ill humor he has.
"Oh, no! On the contrary, dear man! On the contrary!" Mr. Oliver exclaimed with a laugh.
Edward ignored the older man though, and instead walked towards me, each step heavy and almost menacing. I had almost stepped back before I caught myself and he had held one of my hands up to his lips, bestowing a kiss on my knuckles. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Eyre. But alas! it is Mrs. Rivers now," he murmured just loud enough, his eyes never leaving mine.
"A pleasure, Mr. Rochester…" I meekly returned, and I saw his eyes glisten (as though he was amused by the feigning of acquaintance that we were enacting). His hand never left mine, which would have probably appeared suspicious had it not been for the servant who announced that dinner was already served.
St. John was quick to take my arm and escort me out of the drawing room and away from Edward then, following Rosamond and Thomas who were the first to march out. I had noticed Rosamond stealing glances behind her, and I assumed she was perhaps intrigued at the previous scene.
"We can go home if you ever feel ill. Say the word, Jane," I heard him whisper before we entered the dining room. I smiled up at him meekly and I watched him smile back handsomely, though it did not reach his eyes.
When finally we were all seated, Mr. Oliver and Edward were situated at both ends of the rectangular table with us couples sitting across each other. I sat nearer to Edward and across Thomas for Mr. Oliver was resolute on having St. John sit by his side.
Fresh baked bread was served with salt and butter first, and as I busied myself with buttering a slice, Rosamond had decided to stir some conversation while she sliced her bread in quarters. "I did not realize you knew Mr. Rochester before, Jane. If you don't mind my asking, I am terribly curious how that even came to be."
"A mere acquaintance, I'm afraid. More of a hearsay than anything. You know whom I include in my circle, Rosamond. Not to offend you, Mrs. Rivers," Edward cut in before I could even manage a response, and I was grateful despite the dripping sarcasm of his words. The story of the naïve governess did not belong in this table, nor anywhere in Morton, for that matter.
"Pity. I was hoping for something novel and interesting. Surely St. John is, too?" – she looked inquisitively to St. John who only pursed his lips in reply – "Jane is relatively new to everyone here, not anyone knows of her roots," she finished with an air of decadence only ladies who lived in wealth would have.
"It should indeed be interesting. But perhaps another time, Rosamond. This dinner is, after all, for St. John and Rochester the Recluse!" Mr. Oliver interjected, with which Edward scoffed in reply.
"I don't know how to thank you enough for this honor, Mr. Oliver," St. John said, visibly relieved in my eyes with the change of discourse.
"Oh, pish-posh, my dear boy. You do know I never approved of you leaving Morton and I could never have hoped to stop you. You staying here in the end is certainly something to celebrate!" Mr. Oliver's laugh boomed and soon enough St. John and Thomas were laughing with him.
"That's true," I heard Rosamond whisper amidst the banter, and I couldn't help but feel sad for her. It must be true then, what they were saying of her enduring affections for my husband. My gaze found her eyes and I realized how she was looking at me resentfully at the same exact moment, although it only lasted for a split-second.
"Morton surely rejoices with me, my dear chap! And certainly the girls at the school are in celebration in your case as well, Jane," said Mr. Oliver as he turned to me, to my utter surprise. I never figured myself interesting enough to catch this wealthy old man's attention. I have indeed judged him wrong.
"Absolutely, father. Jane is indeed well-loved by the girls," Rosamond said with a sweet smile as she looked directly at me. Now I was wondering whether I was wrong with her eyes as well, although that did not change the unease her gaze seemed to proffer.
"Do tell us more, Rosamond. I have heard praise of Jane's accomplishments here and there, in my short stay here," Edward urged on. "I've a notion this little school of yours hardly befits Jane's talents. A waste, if you ask me –"
"– a noble sacrifice," said St. John defiantly at the same time the servants arrived to clear the plates. There was nothing but the busy chink of cutlery and china for a moment until the servants had left.
"Indeed, if that is how you would wish to put it," Edward sneered condescendingly in the resulting quiet, ensuring everyone in the table heard. I watched St. John's frame tense in silence at that retort, and the servants had brought bowls of cream of barley before any one of us could respond.
"I hardly think of it as a waste," Rosamond rescued the sour conversation once the servants had taken their leave. "Morton School is decent enough. I make certain it is, and will be more in the future. As had St. John before he handed the reins of our – I mean, this – venture to Jane."
"And rightly so. I could never have hoped to find a better person suited to the task," St. John stated as he stared directly into my eyes. I was enveloped by a radiant warmth at his gracious words, and suddenly it was as if it were only St. John and I who existed in the lovely dining room of Vale Hall.
"Evidently," Edward uttered, swiftly destroying the haze that had engulfed between St. John and I. He looked grave from the periphery of my vision; I did not have enough courage to look him straight in the eye, but I was almost certain his gaze was fixed at me.
"It is quite unfortunate that you found it necessary to relinquish the post, Jane," Rosamond continued on. "It would have been very comforting to know that the school is in your able hands."
"I am quite sure Ms. Dawson does a fine job herself," I answered with a small smile, remembering how much I had been sure to miss the girls. I would not have to miss them much now. I must remember to ask Ms. Dawson if she would permit me to teach the girls to paint again at times.
"But surely now that you no longer are leaving for India, you'd most likely wish to have something to busy yourself with?" Thomas asked. I inwardly applauded his ingrained courtesy which was in stark contrast of Edward's. Thomas's manner of speaking had an air of someone kind and born to wealth; quite a rare amalgamation of character and birth, in my limited opinion. I knew he suited Rosamond well, if only she would see it.
"I would get by, Thomas, thank you. I am quite content with being a housewife for now, and it keeps me busy enough," I smiled at him kindly.
But Edward was quick to speak. "And what of your accomplishments? Shall they be left buried and rotten to the ground? Are they all for naught?" For some vague reason, I felt his statement loaded and heavy with resentment, as if he was talking about an entirely different subject.
I felt his eyes bore deep into my flesh, engaging me to look at him and I did. "As I have once told St. John, they shall keep," I said with a tight smile that would sway any thought of hostility but not discourage it. It took a great amount of nerve, gazing back at him as I worded out my response, and it took a great deal of restraint to not be sharp as to acquire unwanted attention.
And it only took Rosamond a second to cast my composure to the ground in pieces. "You seem to know much of her accomplishments, Rochester. I now doubt whether you were only a mere acquaintance of hers as you have said."
"Town gossip clearly have worked to my advantage then if you should think I knew your missionary's wife more than you do," Edward lazily countered, his wit too quick even for me who knew the truth, his words working like a stealthy double-edged sword – swaying Rosamond's attention and working her non-secret affections into the conversation at the same time. And then I had slowly begun to realize how easy it was for him to weave false truths and diffuse uninvited attention. It was too easy for him now as it was too easy for him then.
"To be sure!" Mr. Oliver's laugh boomed around the dining room once more, and the others followed, diffusing the tension that had built up within me in a matter of seconds.
The soup bowls were cleared off the table and replaced by servings of poached salmon with mousseline sauce and cucumbers. The dinner conversation had then only revolved on Mr. Oliver interviewing St. John of his newly set plans in the future, "now that he no longer cares for India", as Mr. Oliver lovingly pointed out, much to St. John's discomfort, in my opinion. There were no certain plans yet, and St. John was able to satisfactorily and tastefully convey the lack of plans to the old man, which must have been challenging for him.
I was certain his cares for completing missionary work in Eastern soil were still intact, and only the unfortunate events of my being ill had deterred his ambition. To be labeled by Mr. Oliver as one "who no longer cared for India" seemed to me most insensitively hurtful. But St. John had chosen to receive it sportingly without offense, and I thought this was only because he knew Mr. Oliver and his substance to know the old man meant well. Soon enough, individual servings of fancy peach sorbet were being served in place of the fish.
"And you, Rochester? Has my daughter's wedding finally awakened you from social hibernation? Your vicious commentaries have always been rather entertaining and I would very much like to see you more in these parties once again," Mr. Oliver kindly engaged Edward into conversation, despite the topic being too probing in my opinion.
"Alas, I should, if I am to find myself a new wife," he answered, much to my astonishment. I had realized then that the majority of Milcotte may have never known about Bertha before, but the entirety of the town should already know by now, what with the appalling halt of a scandalous wedding ceremony between their rich Thornfield Hall master and his ward's governess. And if the whole of Milcotte should already know, then the whole of Edward's society must have heard at least bits and pieces of the story as well.
"Ah, the misfortune of losing her the past year is completely understandable," Mr. Oliver said empathically with a short pause, remembering his own wife, I think.
"I never knew, Mr. Rochester. My condolences," Thomas said.
"But a mere few knew of any of it. Much to my own loss than theirs," Edward said quietly as he looked at me meaningfully. The dining table fell uncomfortably silent until the sorbets were cleared and the main course was served – lamb and mint sauce with creamed carrots and boiled potatoes accompanied by a generous serving of red wine. It was quite a festive dish, in stark contrast with the sullen curtain that had loomed upon its diners.
"Well," Rosamond said moments later, obviously displeased by the gloomy turn our dinner had taken, "I believe a change in subject is in order. Jane" – she turned to me – "I shall have you know of my plans of expanding Morton School's grounds and elevating its curriculum. My husband has already pledged for the necessary funds, as well as some of my father's friends. But I wish only to entrust the school in your hands once it is bettered; although I must admit I would much rather savor it if you were part of executing the plans. You have first-hand experience in schools such as I am planning to achieve –" I opened my mouth to interrupt, to say Ms. Dawson should be completely capable, but she only went on "–and Ms. Dawson does not," she finished as if she had read my mind.
I was speechless at the generous and honorable offer, and I felt it was discourteous to flatly refuse. However, the doubt that gnawed on me at its presentation gave me enough reason to not accept the proposal at once. I was not certain whether my talents were fit to run a bigger institution. And I felt I should first consult with my husband privately before any decision was made. I looked to St. John and found that he was looking at me inquisitively as though he were attempting to read my expression, and when my gaze met his, he smiled encouragingly.
I worded out my response very carefully in my head before saying it out loud: "I thank you, Rosamond, and I am honored. But I'd much rather mull this decision over than take on the responsibility with much haste. I would not want to disappoint anyone."
"I am certain you would not," Edward muttered softly, and to Rosamond's curiosity, I believed. She looked at him sharply (while trying at subtlety) as though she was trying to catch him in the act of being more than my acquaintance. "In fact, I would be very interested in putting up an investment at this school of yours, Rosamond, if the plans do takeoff," he added craftily to sway Rosamond's suspicious thoughts, at which her face instantly lit up.
"No one could have worded a more diplomatic response than Jane's at that, Rosamond," Mr. Oliver lightly teased which made me blush, which in turn made the others chuckle. And just like that, the dinner conversation flowed lightly once more, especially after chocolate and vanilla éclairs were served for dessert.
Mr. Oliver asked everyone to retreat to the drawing room for the coffee, giving the grandiose dinner an informal seventh course. Amidst the short journey from one room to the next, I found myself caught in a conversation about the potentials of the future school with a fully riveted Thomas and a persuasive Mr. Oliver on my taking the offered post. Edward had also found himself part of the subgroup as we entered the threshold of the drawing room when Thomas remembered and made certain Edward would keep his word of supporting Rosamond's dear project.
The following exchange of marvelous ideas felt like an overwhelmingly enjoyable wave, especially since it involved the welfare of my Morton girls. And as I looked behind me in the hopes of St. John partaking in the optimistic conversation, I see Rosamond clutching on his arm, pulling him towards the gallery, and saying something about showing him "the newest artwork her father had just acquired". St. John's eyes met with mine inquiringly, a resignedly reluctant smile half-formed in his lips, and I faintly nodded my own amused assent before I saw him disappear with Rosamond from the hall.